Crimson Lullaby
by Fleeting Eternity
Summary: "If insanity strikes, should that man have his way-for courage is close, and knowledge at bay."  The Soviet Union was one of the most feared powers during the World War II era, but what gruesome activity was really going on behind the scenes?
1. Chapter 1

The date was November 30, 1939. It was the day the insanity started...the day _her _insanity started.

Yes, every country related to the Soviet Union remembers that day extremely well. Those 24 hours acted as a catalyst to further events which none of them ever predicted from "Sweet Little Belarus." Before that day, Belarus was, (for the most part), a gentle girl. She was a bit forlorn, though—detached from the environment and events around her. You could almost say she was a little naïve.

This despondent behavior did, as expected, prevent Belarus from keeping binds of trust between herself and anyone else. But there was one person she proved to be very dependent on—her big brother, Russia. Belarus rarely said a word to her brother, but became easily unsettled when he was off at a conference, visiting another country, or even if he only left the house for a few minutes to take a walk outside. For Belarus, a minute without her brother's presence felt like an eternity, and overwhelmed her with a sense of vulnerability. With Russia, she felt protected and sheltered. She followed him blindly, obedient to whatever command he gave her.

But this one she regretted.

* * *

It was another wintry day in Eastern Europe; nothing out of the ordinary. The familiar falling white flakes had lost their beauty and uniqueness over time, simply blending in with the rest of the blank background before resting softly on the ground.

Belarus sighed and watched as her warm breath passed through the frigid air. She studied its path, then closed her eyes and felt the cold against them, chilling them like glass. With her eyes still shut, she hesitantly extended an arm to the side, joining her bare frozen hand with the softness and heat of her brother's sheep skin glove.

"You're sure about this, Russia?"

"Positive," he answered affirmatively, his stare fixed on the foreign country lying below the base of the snow-covered hill where they were standing. "Something monumental is going to happen soon, Belarus. It's my job to make sure the Soviets are a part of it."

"But...how do you know for certain, brother?" Belarus shifted her gaze to follow Russia's. She passably watched as the country of Finland carried on its everyday life beneath them. Finland's inhabitants were considered fools in the opinions of many during that time—fools, perhaps, for rejecting the demands of the Soviet Union.

Now was that really foolish? It was difficult for Belarus to tell. Of course her answer would be biased, being part of the Soviet Union herself, but the more she thought about it, the more she admired the Finnish people. The tag-team league of the Soviets proved to be a very strong-willed and frightening force—a force with which many begrudgingly complied. After Russia repeatedly demanded control of one of Finland's naval bases, he was the only country to stand up for himself and refuse. Maybe that decision wasn't stupid or irrational...maybe it was brave.

But at the moment, Belarus's opinion didn't matter. What mattered was the task at hand: Invade Finland and capture it. More land, more power.

Russia briefly broke his train of thought to face his sister, using an aged dirt-stained handkerchief to rub the bridge of his frostbitten nose. "How do I know for certain? Belarus, look around you." He stepped back and broadened his arm, gesturing to the vast sea of red stationed behind them. "_We_ are the Soviet Army."

Belarus pondered Russia's vague answer to her question for a short time. _We are the Soviet Army?_ she thought. _But...what does that mean? Does he really believe that name automatically entitles us to an easy victory?_ Belarus gazed back up at her older brother, wearing the same awestruck expression that usually crossed her face while doing so. _Do I sense...ignorance?_

"Bela." The harsh sound of Russia's voice immediately pulled Belarus away from her thoughts—she recognized this tone. She pulled her feet together, arched her back up to the point of a smug-like stance, lifted her chin to look down upon all who opposed, and dropped her shaking hands to her sides, longing for another to hold on to. Her palms became sweaty, and out of nervousness, she grabbed the hem of her scarlet dress to rid herself of perspiration during below freezing temperatures. The bitter weather once again taking a toll on her, Belarus closed her eyes once more, searching for a sign or hope in her mind that everything was going to be alright. She went through this with every battle, and time after time again, Russia had made it out alive, practically unscathed, her worries and fears gone to waste.

A new voice surrounded Belarus now. A language that she couldn't understand pulsated off the mountains encasing them. "The Reds, they're here! Soldiers, hold your ground! Keep your firearms steady!" _The Reds._ During every fight, that was the one phrase she could always comprehend.

A loud cheer erupted from the Soviet Army as they readied their weapons, shifting uneasily on their feet as they anxiously waited for a signal from Russia. These men were trained fighters, almost like they were born to thrive on bloodshed. The Finns were immensely outnumbered in both soldiers and weapons; that was obvious from the start.

"FIRE!" An unexpected and abrupt bullet shot flew right by Russia's head, leaving even one of the strongest nations in the world momentarily speechless.

...What wasn't obvious was the trouble that would quickly ensue.

* * *

"They are...stronger than I expected." This rapidly developed into one of Russia's most popular phrases. It provided absolutely no comfort to his little sister though, who was struck silent after the first battle of the war with Finland.

Russia lay on the brink of unconscious in front of her, covered with dried blood just minutes after another failed attempt to take down the Finns. This became a reoccurring instance with the countries' many quarrels. They were defeats that Russia just wasn't used to partaking in. "This has been going on for far too long." Russia paused to take in a deep breath, gulping down the urge to vomit. "The snow's almost melted...spring is nearing. Tch...so much for the _Winter _War," he mumbled under his breath.

"I know, brother. I know," Belarus cooed, distracting her trembling hands by fondling her hair bow. "Don't worry; I'm sure we'll turn out victorious soon enough. Remember that lullaby Ukraine would always sing to us when we were young? That always used to calm you down." Belarus rested her pair of soft hands on the sides of Russia's blazing red cheeks. Leaning in close to his face, she serenaded warmly,

_"Guarded by angels of crisp winter snow  
This land we adore is starting to grow  
Shelter, love, and peace are what it lacks  
From preventing our nation to start moving back  
So shield one another from the pain of today  
From the evil and nastiness coming in May  
If insanity strikes, should that man have his way  
For courage is close, and knowledge at bay."  
_

Russia listened intently to the song; it had been a long time since those words had last reached his ears. After a while, he frowned and rolled over on his side in an attempt to hide his defeated, war-torn face from his sister. "This is truly embarrassing to all of us," he snarled. "Why...why are we losing? It doesn't make sense! The Soviets should have been able to capture Finland in one week _maximum_! What am I doing wrong...?"

It was then and there, observing Russia's fallen form, that Belarus vowed to herself from then on, _she _would be the protector. No longer would she rely on her brother for guidance and support; he had done enough. It was now her job to protect him no matter the circumstances, opposition, or time of day. No lengths would be spared, no lines would be drawn, and no limits would be set. There were no exceptions.

This is war, after all.

* * *

A/N: Just thought I'd let you all know that this is historically accurate. You have no idea how much research I've been having to do for this fic...is it worth it? Yes.


	2. Chapter 2

_March 5, 1940_

"An _armistice_? You've got to be kidding me, da..."

"No, on the contrary, I'm quite serious."

"What are the benefits? Feel free to lay them out for me."

"How can you _not_ see them?"

The entire room was tense. It was similar to that pit feeling you get in your chest when waiting for a loud noise to sound. But instead of watching your mother's precious vase or a bowling ball drop to the floor, you're watching a pendulum of a grandfather clock. Russia and Finland had been arguing for hours: bickering back and forth, throwing out solutions and threats left and right, but the meeting was going nowhere. All that time had passed and the nations were exactly where they were a few months previous, with barely any progression whatsoever.

"Well," Finland began, cupping his clammy hands together, "it's obvious that both of our armies are worn out. The harsh winter really took a toll on all of us..."

"And?" Russia interrupted, leaning his elbow on the table. Wearing a vacant expression, he held his face in his hand, appearing as bored as he could possibly be. "Look, if you're just going to begin rambling off excuses, I have better ways of spending my time. A season won't prevent me from gaining a victory."

Finland gulped, unsure of how to reply. He straightened up in his chair and looked Russia in the eyes when he spoke to him, still trying to maintain a confident and composed air through his anxiety. "The Soviet Union has enough territory, don't you think? If we just agree to this armistice now, many lives and unnecessary fighting could be spared! Isn't that all we truly strive for in the end, protection for the lives of our people?"

Russia pondered on this thought for a moment. He stared down at the solid oak table beneath him, picturing the war playing out between the wood's ridges. A deep grunt rattled from his throat, escaping into a full-out uncontrolled laugh that rang throughout the room. "That's just further proof of your incompetence! Your words now solidify my suspicion that your country is about to crack!"

Russia continued on with his laughter while Finland stared back at him with a broken spirit. He knew his country was on the urge of submission, but to think that it was actually happening right in front of his eyes was difficult to comprehend. What had changed since the Winter War started? Finland was off to an exceptional start, so how did the situation flip completely out of his favor? Then it hit him. He wasn't just fighting anyone—he was fighting the Soviets. No matter what the circumstances, they were bound to win eventually. Even positive thinking couldn't get Finland as far as to triumph over the Soviet Union.

Russia took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then went on with his thought. "Besides, I'm not striving for peace or anything like that. In fact, I like a little conflict. It makes life more interesting."

Finland shot him a disgusted look, barely able to believe what he was hearing. Sure, they were the "Soviet Union," so they had some sort of cruel nature to live up to, right? That was their stereotypical reputation. But this...

"Let's face it; existence without conflict would be boring."

...was a bit unsettling.

Russia, satisfied with the meeting, decided to end it on that note. He stood from his chair and picked up his hat by the brim off the edge of the table. He used the side of his hand to dust it off (despite it being perfectly clean) and returned the hat snugly to his head. "Well, we'll see how I feel about this tomorrow." He made a swift headway to the door and exited, mumbling under his breath, "Take care, Mr. Finland."

* * *

_Entry of March 9, 1940_

_Dear Diary,_

_I'm trapped in my own home. Brother has ordered I stay here with Big Sister Ukraine to help protect the front while his armies advance on Finland. How trite. I promised myself I would be the one defending Brother, right? If I can't keep a simple promise to myself, that's pretty pathetic. I argued my own against Russia, pleading and almost begging for his word to allow me to fight alongside him. I guess that's the problem with older siblings...they always want to finish things by themselves._

_Even if I can't be physically present to protect him, I'm keeping constant watch near the telegraph and phone. If there's one hint of trouble I'm leaving here, even if it gets Big Brother mad at me. That's the small price I'm willing to pay at this point. (Even if his wrath is rather frightening...)_

_But judging from what news I've received so far, things are going well for us. The Finns suffered massive amounts of casualties over the past few days and are running out of weapons and artillery. I suspect Finland is bound to give in sometime in the near future. Even Britain and France have yet to come to his aid yet! I thought for sure Norway and Sweden would have by now, they seem close...but perhaps they haven't become official members of the Allies yet..._  
_Well, I'll make sure to keep you posted, diary. Wish me luck._

_Belarus_

* * *

_March 12, 1940_

"Oh, just give up and sign it already! You can't win!"

"I..." Finland spat out. He gazed down at the papers in front of him. The lines filled with conditions and restraints for his country dragged on forever across the page. If he signed it, he lost. If he refused to sign it, he'd still lose. It was the perfect example of a lose-lose situation. Either way, he was promised a defeat.

The bruises and wounds enveloping Finland's body swelled with additional pain as he reached little by little for the pen, knowing that within the next few seconds, he'd sign away the country's freedom. _It's over,_ he thought, _we're actually done for._

Russia, on the other hand, looked quite pleased. He stood over the battered country and watched fervently as the pen hit the paper, signing his name across the dotted line. Russia smirked and snatched the treaty from the table with two fingers, careful not to tear or wrinkle it. He held it up in front of a window, allowing the light breaking through dense clouds to shine through it. "And to think," Russia mused pitilessly, "this all could've easily been avoided if you had just handed over your naval base when I initially requested it. Now you're under my control." The face of a madman shone beneath his for a moment before fading away in the next.

"I must admit that I was impressed at first. You Finns really did take me by surprise, putting up such a fight like that. But now when I look at you, all feeble and covered with blood, I can't help but chuckle a little at the strength of my own power. To think that I thought you better of me, even for a split second! You're not even fit to tilt my hat to!" Russia marveled at himself for the next few minutes, taunting Finland with incessant bragging of his success.

Finland's face turned bright red, and he had to bite his tongue hard to keep himself from lashing out at his superior. _I swear, if that spring hadn't brought you a renewed energy, we would've beat you to a pulp._


	3. Chapter 3

_June 14, 1940_

"...And these are your new uniforms," Russia finished, forcibly thrusting a pile of red woolen clothes into each of the new nations' pair of arms. "You are to wear these everyday from now on. They prove your loyalty to the Soviet Union and show that you are now part of us. Understand?" The Russian took a step back and surveyed the three men in front of him. All were rather timid-looking in appearance, trembling as small beads of sweat collected on their foreheads. It's as if the three functioned as a whole—if one fidgeted, so did the other two. If one glanced toward the floor, the others would soon follow. Despite their obvious differences in both appearance and personality, each member of the trio had a similar and troubling look of daunt plastered to their face. Succumbed by terror, none of them had said a word for hours.

Lithuania titled his head down to study the foreign uniform in his hands. (As predicted, Estonia and Latvia did the same a moment later.) _Poland never required uniforms, _he thought, pushing a lock of mouse-brown hair behind his ear. _Granted, I'm sure that's for the best. I wouldn't look good in a miniskirt... Knowing Poland, that would be his idea of an acceptable uniform... _Lithuania shuddered while imagining the situation, then smiled, suddenly missing Poland's quirky tendencies. _I wonder how that fool is holding up._

Russia immediately noticed the expression change on Lithuania's face—his familiar stoic expression had changed to one of reflection and joy in the blink of an eye. "What's the matter with you?" Russia advanced and squeezed his subordinate's nose. "You look like you just smelled vinegar, da..."

"N-N-Nothing, s-sir!" Lithuania sputtered, saliva darting from every angle of his mouth. He stood up straight and moved his hand to his forehead in a reverent salute; the uniform dropped from Lithuania's grasp to the toes of his shoes, but he remained shaking in his position in a desperate effort to remain stationary. Estonia and Latvia eyed their companion anxiously. They looked back and forth between Russia and Lithuania, waiting for signs of a positive or negative reaction.

After a minute of silence, Russia opened his mouth and drawled, "Oooh...look at that." He picked up the uniform in one fluid movement. "You've already got it dirty, Lithuania. You ought to be more careful." Sighing overdramatically, he threw the pile of clothes to his older sister and forced a smile. "Ukraine, clean these up for me, yes?"

"Of course, Russia-chan..." Ukraine responded, pulling the clothes closer to her chest for comfort. She looked as if she was about to cry herself, her voice was so shaky.

_Oh...she looks so sad..! _ Latvia observed, shifting his gaze to watch her. _So that's Ukraine, huh? Poor lady...she could leak tears any second! For the love of God, I hope she doesn't start bawling..._

"Good!" Russia's own mood changed suddenly this time, returning to his usual feign of friendly and cheerful. "Now, um, Belarus?" He shot his younger sister a look, pointing down a hall to his right. "Could you show these gentlemen to their living quarters?"

Belarus ceased writing in her notebook and shut it, tucking it neatly under her arm for later journaling. "Yeah." The nearly nonexistent sound of pen scrawling on paper had become a recent comfort for Belarus, so she was mildly upset about the interruption. (Yet, of course, she dared not show any signs of objection or disagreement in the slightest.)

* * *

_Belarus's POV_

I approached the one who looked as if he was the leader of the group first. Lithuania, was it? Yes, it was him. He had done the most talking so far—I would keep an eye on him. That being said, maybe I should watch out for the other two as well...you know, for the sake of keeping hold to that infamous saying, "it's always the quiet ones."

I grabbed hold of Lithuania's forearm; no way was I going to even consider holding his nervous sweaty hand. He kept his other hand free so he could carry his luggage (that being one suitcase). It didn't surprise me that Lithuania hadn't come with much, or if he really even had anything to bring in the first place. Regardless, I led the three men down the hall that Russia directed without a single complaint. To my initial surprise, the living space assigned to the men appeared very...well, comfortable. And clean. And inviting. I had not traveled to that wing of the house until then, but I truly thought Big Brother would've put less effort into the design of this space. I thought of the Baltics as captives originally, but as it appears, I suppose they'll be living with us for a longer time period than I thought...and perhaps even as equals.

I opened the door to the first room I saw—the door made almost no noise at all as it elegantly glided along the plush carpet. Quality, indeed. Either Russia was really looking forward to keeping these countries as allies, or he was really looking forward to beating the crap out of them later. Whether tactics of welcome or bribery, it was difficult to decipher at the time. The men trailing me were obviously thinking the same, judging by the look on their faces—mouths and eyes so wide, I could've sworn I was holding the arm of a fish for a second. "Hey," I hissed sharply, digging my gaze into each of them. Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia were a pain to try to read...I just couldn't make out what they were thinking; are they seriously this terrified, or is it an act to cover up suspicions of further actions? Only time will tell. (And again I encounter another problem with waiting.)

"This...this is remarkable," the leader of the trio mused as he stepped forward, admiring the careful craftsmanship of intricate spiral carvings on the room's ceiling.

Estonia soon followed behind Lithuania, also marveling over the ceiling's apparently captivating woodwork. "Wow...is that supposed to be a map of the Union?"

_A map of the...? _I looked up, wanting to get a closer look at what he was talking about. When I squinted my eyes I could see it, and sure enough he was right. The spirals all connected to form a perfect (and by "perfect," I mean "exactly to scale") atlas of the Soviet Union—flawless down to every last city and border. But it didn't look like a normal military map...there was actually something artistic and ingenious about it. At first glance, the spirals seemed to be nothing more than a comely pattern, but upon closer inspection, as Estonia pointed out, they did indeed form a map. So Estonia was the observant one, eh? Noted. Vigilance could be positive or negative, depending on how it is perceived, or how it's used against or for Big Brother. But I won't worry about that now. I looked back down from the ceiling and tried not to show much amusement about it—I didn't want them to think this was all new to me. "Yes, it is. Nice attentiveness on your part." I said the last sentence with hint of a waned warning. Necessary precautions needed to be taken. But like I said, I won't worry about that now.

"It's so pretty in here!" The small one literally bounced in the room. You'd think he was _excited _about being annexed. He flopped face-down on the bed closest to the window and sighed happily. "And the sheets are so soft...aah..."

It's true. The sheets looked as though they were as soft as the carpet, if not softer. Why _did _Russia put so much consideration into this? Well, he knows better than me, and it's not my decision to make.

"Make yourselves comfortable," I said indifferently, leaning my back against the wall with a thud. "But...be aware." I found myself changing direction and lunging out suddenly at Lithuania, pulling his arms tautly behind his back despite his screams, and kicking him down to the floor. My next few sentences were jeered as if venom were oozing from my mouth, like another being completely took over. "If you EVER do anything to take a shot at or betray my big brother, I swear, I will _brutally kill you_ without a second notion!"

The look of pure horror reflected in Lithuania's eyes gave me a bit of a jolt.

I still don't know what came over me.


End file.
